Snapshots
by jinxed-lulu
Summary: A collection of drabbles and one-shots from any moment in time - Pre-Hogwarts to Post-Hogwarts - in the lives of Harry and Draco. AU, EWE; HPDM slash. With just a touch of angst.
1. Innocent Dreams

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Setting:** Pre-Hogwarts, Draco is six years-old.

**Pairing:** Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy

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**Innocent Dreams**

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_Draco Malfoy_

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Though his Mother was loathe to tell him the story about the Boy-Who-Lived, he had finally pestered her enough that she caved. Really though, Draco refused to be the only child in the world who _didn't know_ it. Even when he'd been as young as four, he knew all the rules to being a Malfoy; one of them being _'a Malfoy gets what a Malfoy wants'_ and he would not be told 'no'.

After getting Mother to tell him the story, he no longer doubted his Father about the rules to being a Malfoy. Draco had done what his Father always told him—use a little charm with some cunning. He was very proud of himself.

When she had finished telling him all about the Wizarding World's boy hero, he didn't understand her look of disgust. Harry Potter sounded like the perfect friend for someone like him. Yet Mother had told him she had no idea where the boy was…so now he had to wait until he left for Hogwarts to meet him. That was five years away—a very long time to wait.

No matter, Draco would use this time to prepare for when the time came to introduce himself. He couldn't wait for all the grand adventures they'd share. In his excitement he couldn't be fussed to care that he spent most of his days telling his house-elf Dobby about these many hopes and dreams.

There was one promise Draco made to himself and it would not be broken—Harry Potter would never forget him.


	2. Sweet Green Apple

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Setting:** Hogwarts, 3rd Year

**Pairing:** Harry/Draco

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**Sweet Green Apple**

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_Harry Potter_

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This Care of Magical Creatures class was going to be the death of him…he just knew it.

It was always Draco sodding Malfoy, wasn't it? If the blond Slytherin wasn't taunting him about his nasty fear of Dementors, then he was doing _something_ to Harry.

Currently Malfoy was making his body feel things that he was pretty damn sure it shouldn't feel in regards to _him_. Truthfully Malfoy wasn't doing anything that could seem underhanded. He was just eating a green apple while laughing with his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, while ignoring the lecture Hagrid was giving about 'This Lessons Monster' as Harry liked to call it—Hippogriff was what Hagrid called it.

Still the way his pink pouty lips seperated, showing just a peek of tongue before he bit into the apple was sending tingles thoughout his body. Yet, that was nothing compaired to when Malfoy had just a hint of juice dribbling off his bottom lip—taking his tongue out while swirling it on said lip and sucking the juice back into his mouth. That was what had chills running down his spine.

Merlin…this _had_ to be bloody illegal; because Malfoy was starting to make eating an apple look downright – dare he think it – _sinful._

By the end of class Harry Potter's world had righted itself—all because Malfoy had done something stupid and got himself hurt, trying to make a fool out of Hagrid while trying to show up Harry. This snapped Harry's thoughts back into order; reminding him that the blond was a prat and his moment of insanity had been quickly forgotten.


	3. Winter Delights

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Setting:** Post-Hogwarts; Harry and Draco are twenty-three years-old.

**Pairing:** Harry/Draco

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**Winter Delights**

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_Harry Potter_

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This was a downright horrible night. For one thing, it was fucking freezing outside. Truthfully Harry wasn't exactly sure his gloves were doing much good, not like he had much feeling left in his hands at the moment.

It was on the nights like these, that Harry looked back and balked at his dreams of becoming an Auror. Late nights spent chasing dark wizards in the freezing cold, while there was snow all over the ground; in the middle of January. Even so, Harry knew that he wouldn't be giving up this job any time soon. He loved feeling that rush of adrenaline, knowing that his fight-or-flight response was about to kick in; having his best mate, Ron, as his partner—so in tune with one another after years on the battle field together. Most of this was more or less based on how his whole school years were spent fighting Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, that he grew up as an Auror and, didn't know what else to do with himself. Secretly – or between him and Ron – he loved this job too much.

Just after nights like this one, he was only too happy to come home.

The sneaky little bugger that he loved more than his own life, Draco Malfoy, would be home and waiting for him.

"I'm home," he called out as he shut the door. "Finally," he finished to himself.

"In the sitting room, love," answered the calm and soft voice of his husband.

One of his all time favorite sights greeted him in their sitting room—Draco curled up on the sofa under a blanket with two cups of hot chocolate on the table.

"Extra marshmallows?" asked Harry, giving the blond a cheeky smile and cuddling into his warmth before grabbing his mug.

Draco looked over at his husband with a fond smile, always feeling better once he came back home to him. "Yes, I'll have you know that I've not forgotten once in three years."

"Must you always talk down to me, prat?"

"Well, Potter," drawled Draco teasingly, "when you begin to show higher intellect, I shall stop using smaller words for your smaller brain."

Slapping his arm lightly, Harry gave him a bright smile. He'd always enjoy Draco's sharp tongue—along with his quick wit.

Leaning over, he brushed his lips softly over his husbands, in a sweet kiss. Pulling back he rested his head in the crook of Draco's neck, tilting his head up, so that he may whisper in his ear, "I love you."

"I love you, too," said he said, while rubbing soothing circles on Harry's back.


	4. Other Side of the Coin

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Setting:** Hogwarts, 4th Year

**Pairing:** Harry/Draco

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**Other Side of the Coin**

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_Draco Malfoy_

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"You're staring at Potter, again."

Draco whipped his head to his right, trademark sneer on his face. "Would you like to make this a formal announcement, Zabini?"

The Italian boy rolled his eyes at his housemate's behavior. "Do think me dense? Well, I'm not, I placed a silencing spell around us before I even spoke."

Malfoy just let his breath out in a huff; he was _not_ going to apologize, even if he had been in the wrong.

"When are you going to confess your love to Potter?" asked Blaise, a mischievous twinkle in his dark eyes.

The only sign that showed Draco's shock was a slight widening of his eyes, before they narrowed with an ugly look upon his face. "I do not love the Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die," he protested.

Blaise then let out a snort—not usual pure-blood etiquette but he could hardly stop it with how in denial Draco was at the moment.

"You know what they say about hate, don't you?" not giving the verbose blonde a chance to speak, he continued, "the other emotion is love – as in you cannot 'hate' Potter this much without loving him," he finished smiling at his own brilliance.

"Are you mental?" Draco asked in almost a screech, "would you like me to get you a room at St. Mungo's? What even gives you the slightest idea that I could love that galoot?"

Zabini wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose but he didn't, it _was_ a near thing. "I saw you during the First Task—you had been fine and excited till Potter came out to battle his dragon. That's when you started biting you're bottom lip, tightening you're hands into fists, almost to the point of shaking you're legs.

"You feared for his life, Draco. If you only just hated him, then his survival wouldn't have mattered much to you. You wouldn't have made that tiny noise in the back of your throat when the dragon's tail hit his arm."

Draco wasn't too pleased that Blaise had noticed all of this. He didn't want or need anyone other than himself knowing just how much he cared for Harry Potter. Wasn't really thrilled that someone had finally noticed that most of his attempts to 'annoy' and 'abuse' Potter were mostly just his want to have the boy's attention solely to himself, if only for a little while. Not like they could ever be together – or so he thought – he was Draco Malfoy, son of a Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy, and he was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the one who had put an end to his father's master.

"Just don't tell anyone, Zabini," he demanded more strongly than he felt at the moment.

Looking at him, his friend had almost a kind look on his face, "never. Between the two of us; well that is until you finally kiss the little Gryffindor."

He had to bite back a snicker, and pinched his friend's leg under the table. Kiss him indeed, more like snogging him if Draco had his way.


	5. Little of Your Time

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Setting:** Post-Hogwarts; they're eighteen years-old.

**Pairings:** Harry/Draco; _mentions of:_ Ron/Hermione

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**Little of Your Time**

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_Harry Potter_

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The day had been long and tiring. And all he wanted to do now was get back to his house to shower and sleep. Just because he and Ron hadn't _needed_ their N.E.W.T.s to get into the Auror Training, didn't mean that it was any easier on them. There were times when Harry wondered if he would be half-dead if Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody was still calling the shots. Repressing a shudder, he shook his head to clear it from unwanted thoughts, and pressed the button for the lifts.

When the doors opened, he got the shock of his young life, standing alone inside the small lift, in all of his proud glory was none other than, Draco Malfoy. Harry knew that his eyes had to almost be falling out of his head…maybe his jaw was resting on the floor too. It wasn't that he disliked or had an opinion of the blond aristocrat anymore, really; more or less it was that he didn't even spare a thought for his old school rival. Ugh, he really did not need something like this happening to him when he was so knackered.

Soon he began to notice that Malfoy's lips were moving and his face was showing signs of aggravation. He was…confused. What could _he_ have _done_ in these few moments to annoy the other man?

"Potter!" he called out, "Potter, can you hear me?"

"Yes…" he answered slowly, drawing the 's' sound out.

Malfoy then pinched the bridge of his nose, letting his breath out in a huff. "Then, why have you been ignoring me for the past few minutes?" he asked not waiting for an answer. "You stand there, staring at me like some loony pillock, who cannot even hear!"

Oh. _Oh_. That's what had been bothering him. While he had been lost in his thoughts, Malfoy had spent his time trying to get his attention; not that it had gotten him anywhere.

"Sorry," he muttered, as it _was_ his fault this time.

"Well, are you getting on or not? Some of us have better things to do."

Biting the inside of his cheek, so to not let out the nasty comment that was begging to be spat out, he slowly got in the lift—trying hard to portray the image of calm. Harry wasn't so sure that he succeeded in this. Sadly it was his eyes that would give him away if anything did, Harry could never master the art that was a solid mask, which Malfoy and Snape had perfected.

Inside he stood beside the irritating git, yet angled his body away from him. Wanting his body language to speak for itself; _just leave me alone_.

Everything was going so good; neither of them had spoken _one_ word, letting the awkward ride go in peace… That was until they were close to the stop that would let them off at the atrium, and their lift just stopped. Why? Harry didn't know, but he wasn't very happy about this. Not one bit.

"What did you do this time, Potter?" asked Malfoy in that cool detached voice of his.

At first he was pissed over this question, _how dare he blame me_, thought Harry, but the tone of his voice brought him up short. While it was unemotional and had an edge to it, it held none of the malice or pure loathing it once held years ago. Thus causing his reply to sound less sharp than Harry had hoped it would.

"And just why would it be my fault, Malfoy?"

Though he wasn't looking at him, Harry could almost feel the sneer beginning on the other man's face. "Things like this always happen around you!" The '_duh_' was implied.

Rolling his eyes, he turned and slid down the wall of the lift, too tired to stay standing anymore. "Merlin! I'm going to stay on this side and ignore you until the problem is fixed. Think you can handle that?"

Harry then closed his eyes—if he just pretended that the slithering berk wasn't here with him it would be easier to deal with.

**O~O~O~O**

It was now officially thirty minutes that he'd been stuck here.

Harry had never been one to panic in small, enclosed spaces, but this was getting ridiculous. God help him, this was almost _too_ close to his childhood; he had to keep reminding himself that he was not locked in his cupboard at the Dursleys' house. No…right now he was a man who lived in his own home.

"Let's play a game to pass the time," said the bored drawling voice next to him. Looking at his face didn't really endear him to 'playing this game' either, as there was a little devious smile there. Yet…he refused to be bested by this man. Bah! When would he grow up?

Eyeing his once rival wearily he retorted, "the rules?"

"This game has _no rules_," Malfoy said slyly with a smirk. "We just ask each other questions…but I'll place a spell around the room, that won't allow us to lie—honest answers only."

Harry eyed him shrewdly. While this seemed almost too easy, growing up with the other man had showed him that even the simplest things can turn nasty with him involved. Some of the truths that could come out might be painful and/or embarrassing. Or have him facing problems Harry didn't even know were lying under the surface. At the moment he could almost hear a faint whisper of Professor Dumbledore's voice in the back of his mind, from his first-year: _"The truth. It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution."_

How should be proceed with this silly request? On one hand, he was really bored and this could turn out to be amusing; but…on the other hand, it might be really dangerous, otherwise why would he remember the truest words Dumbledore had ever spoken?

Steeling his nerves, he made his decision. "All right," he spoke slowly, "but we don't start with, er, personal questions." Harry took a breath and wet his lips. "Could we, maybe, um, ease into it?"

Oh, how he hated feeling flustered! Getting tongue-tied; using more 'er' and 'um' sounds than a person should.

Malfoy let out a laugh under his breath. "So eloquent, Potter," the next moment his face looked positively devious. "It's like you've read my mind. Now, an easy question for wee Potter… What's your favorite year at Hogwarts?"

He opened his mouth to answer that it had been his 'first-year', because that's when he'd made his first friends ever, but words seemed to fail him. This confused him, until he figured the reason why, consciously this may have been so, but his subconscious _knew_ it wasn't the _truth_. Curious as to the answer himself, he just let the automatic answer slip from his lips.

"It was my third-year," the response didn't shock him as much as he thought it would.

Yet Malfoy raised one brow and narrowed his eyes. "Always knew you were a right nutter, Potter," he said, "do you not remember the mass-murder that was after you that year?"

Not feeling like talking about his godfather to him, he pretended not to hear him. Unable to think of a decent question to ask, he went for the standby, and repeated. "What was your favorite school year?"

In one sudden movement, the other man's jaw locked. He seemed to not want to answer this question; that was odd. But soon the response came—sounding thick on Malfoy's tongue. "My best year at Hogwarts was also my worst. Sixth-year; as you know what had happened to me then, but something also happened during the year to give me hope—false as it may have been."

Well…that made absolutely no sense. The answer did make him curious to know more about Malfoy's side of their sixth-year, yet he would not pry. They weren't close friends nor did he want to dig for answers to only have the process returned to him.

Harry gave the other a nod of acknowledgement, letting him know he heard, telling him to ask his question.

"When did the Weasel finally get the courage to tell Granger he fancied her?"

Hearing this, he couldn't help but let out a snort and look at Malfoy with his brilliant green eyes. Godric, he had known that it wasn't only the Gryffindors who'd seen the tension between his two friends.

"Never did," he gave a light laugh. "During the Battle of Hogwarts, Ron said something that spurred Hermione on. She dropped everything in her arms, then grabbed him and just started snogging him."

"I knew it!" crowed Malfoy, who continued at Harry's confused face. "In fourth-year, we all saw their behavior at the Yule Ball. I told Blaise and Pansy that it wasn't going to be the Weasel who made the first move… Most at school knew just how bold Granger was."

Sadly he wasn't able to refute this claim. But that didn't mean that Ron was any less brave than he knew. His best mate just let his insecurities rule his life, too much. Though in sixth-year, Hermione hadn't helped any by going to Slughorn's party with that little wanker, Cormac McLaggen. Thinking of Cormac still made that rush of anger surge through his body; how Harry would love to send a bludger at _his_ head, to see how he liked it!

"Did _you_ never fear Dementors?" really he wanted to know. Making fun of his fear for a whole school year caused him to wonder.

Suddenly there was a small softening of Malfoy's grey eyes, nothing too visible. "Not when we had been thirteen. For I had been a sheltered child, not really knowing the true horrors that was those creatures," his voice carried an apologetic undertone.

"I understand," and he really _did_. Why would Lucius Malfoy tell his precious son about them? Such as making the child not truly understand how disgusting they were. Poor bloke must have gotten the shock of his life. "Not that I know if it matters or not, but I forgive you."

"Thank you," those two words carried the most sincere sound Harry had ever heard in Malfoy's voice. It left him almost breathless and amazed. "Were you truly frightened of being entered into the Triwizard Tournament?"

"Gods, yes I had been!" that truth took no time or reasoning to be thought of. "I mean, there I was this fourteen year-old child, who would now be competing in this tournament built for seventeen year-old students. Then it had only gotten worse! First Task was a goddamn dragon and the clue for the Second Task was almost impossible to figure out." Harry shook his head and decided to give the blond something a bit more personal. "I hated it. Being so scared that I had almost ran," the words were spoken no louder than a whisper.

The words triggered an unusual reaction from Malfoy. He was now looking at Harry in a calculating sort of way—as if he was starting to see him in a new light.

It made him feel funny; like his skin was tingling. Reminding him of that sensation that thrilled down his spine during third-year Care of Magical Creatures class, while watching Malfoy eat that bloody apple – he refused to think about _that_ right now – shaking his head to clear the thought and get back on track.

"Did you honestly like that horrid toad, Delores Umbridge?"

This sent the blond git into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. It was a nice sound; it was husky and deep. For some reason, Harry wanted to hear it again—his true laugh not that fake or malicious sounding one from school.

From there they went on to ask one another odd and meaningful questions. If Harry had to be honest, somewhere in this 'game' he stopped thinking of the other male as Malfoy and started thinking and calling him Draco. Now that they were on first-name basis, he could see himself becoming friends with this Draco Malfoy. Maybe it was all that time spent under Dumbledore's teachings, but he felt like this man deserved another chance.

Harry was going to give it to him.

**O~O~O~O**

When the lift finally started working again, they had now spent an hour and thirty minutes inside. Yet it only felt like no time had passed at all.

Weirdly, Harry felt saddened that his time with Draco was ending. Thus he did what he was best at… Rushing into something head-on; he refused to let this be the end.

Looking Draco straight in the eyes, he held out his right hand. "I'm sorry about the past you know? Spending this time with you now has shown me that I'd like to know you better. You're not so bad y'know?" he teased, to lighten the moment, "friends?"

The air felt thick with suspense—would he accept it, or do just as Harry had done when they had been little. But, in the next second, Draco's mask had mostly dropped; allowing a decent amount of emotion to show in his eyes while giving Harry a small but nice smile, that he returned.

"Oh, fine," he whined dramatically. "I'll be your friend, Potter, since you are forcing me."

With that both men shook hands; ending on era to start another.

_The End_

**A/N:** The words quoted by Albus Dumbledore, can be found in the first book, _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_. Chapter 17: _The Man With Two Faces_.


	6. Our Kind of Love

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Setting:** Post-Hogwarts; they're twenty-two years-old.

**Pairings:** Harry/Draco

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**Our Kind of Love**

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_Draco Malfoy_

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First thing Draco noticed when entering their house in the sleepy little town of Godric's Hollow, was the smell of freshly baked sugar cookies. It brought a small smile to his face, knowing that his husband was busy doing something that he loved—that _wasn't_ dangerous.

Walking quietly, he headed to the kitchen. The sight that greeted his eyes made his mouth water, in more ways than one. His little love was standing in front of the oven, wearing a forest green jumper and dark Muggle jeans; his new glasses, which were slim framed silver, made his brilliant green eyes much more beautiful. Harry looked like such an innocent vision…making Draco itch to run his fingers through his silky locks of hair or trace the hard lines of his tanned abdomen. Knowing he could do neither at the moment, he settled for watching him as he continued to bake those delicious cookies and humming some Muggle Christmas song.

"Those smell absolutely wonderful," he purred, making his presents known.

Startled, Harry gave a little jump, before turning and giving him a dirty look. "Scare me half to death, why don't you!" he grumbled under his breath, causing Draco to chuckle. "What're you doing home so early?"

Draco went over to his husband to stand behind him, so that he could wrap his arms around Harry's waist and rest his chin on the other's shoulder. It was quite comfortable; as his little love was much shorter than he. Turning, he placed a feather light kiss on his neck. "Closed early because I missed you, my little love," he murmured. "Is there anything wrong with that?"

"Of course not," came Harry's breathless reply. Draco's sensual kisses were starting to slowly get to him. "I had been hoping to finish baking the cookies before you came home."

"Ah," he breathed, his breath caressing Harry's ear and cheek. "Is there a reason for making this many cookies?"

Harry turned to face Draco, without leaving his embrace, gave an impish smile with placing a hand on the blonds' cheek. "Sending some over to the Weasleys' and another batch solely for Hermione and Ron; hoping these make up for our late arrival—even though I told them we'd be spending the morning alone and the afternoon with your mum, they still aren't completely sold on it," he finished ruefully.

Draco gritted his teeth, to stop the vitriol that he wanted to spew about one Molly Weasley. Oh, he knew the woman was important to his little love, as she was the only mother figure he'd ever known, but the horrid woman needed to realize that Harry wasn't that scared little eleven year-old anymore. On Christmas day his place wasn't only at the Weasleys' little home. And her continued nagging for Harry to just try _again_ with their batty daughter, Ginny, was getting old and tiresome.

"Maybe in time," he spoke in a rough voice.

Harry's beautiful green eyes widened. "I keep trying to tell her that I'm _very happy_ with you, but she won't listen! Soon I won't even be able to go visit the Burrow anymore, because if this comes to a choice, she isn't going to win. I'll choose you every single time, Draco," his eyes and voice rang with the truth of his words. "I love you."

Unable to help himself, he brushed his lips against Harry's sweet full ones. Draco had to keep himself in check, it would be so easy to get carried away, allowing his tongue to sweep across his love's bottom one, asking for entrance, turning this into a full on snog. Yet, that wasn't what this was about. No…this kiss had to be sweet and chaste, just showing his love and how much he appreciated the words spoken.

"I love you, too, little love," he whispered against his husband's lips, breathing him in.

"It isn't only us who Mrs. Weasley nags at," Harry said after taking a shuddering breath, and continued to talk at Draco's sardonic smile and raised brow. "She really wants a ton of grandbabies, so she's been hounding Ron and Hermione to get busy and have some kids. But, Hermione doesn't want to have kids this early in their marriage…she wants to further in her career right now."

"Merlin," whispered Draco in shock. "That woman raised seven kids, right? And the seventh is barely out of the house and she's already planning on grandchildren? Does that woman think of anything other than children? No wonder that poor man couldn't afford things for the family."

His husband's face took on a grim look. "Exactly… And then I became her 'eighth' child," he muttered while rolling his eyes, causing Draco to laugh lightly. "You should have seen her during our fifth-year, the fights she would get into with Sirius! Always claiming that he had _no right_ to make any decisions about me or my life—going so far as to call me her child to his face! He was only my godfather, right?"

Smiling he kissed Harry's brow, when he pulled back they shared a look and he had to laugh. This was one of the many things he loved about his little love—so many people saw his innocent looking face and underestimated him. Not noticing that he saw _everything_.

"Did Molly get him really riled up?" he questioned giddily.

"Yes," answered Harry slowly, "why?"

"Because, it is nothing less than humorous to envision her having to deal with the infamous Black family temper!"

"Why do I get the feeling that we'll all be witnessing this kind of event again?" he said rolling his eyes. "See, me and the Weasley boys have been betting on when you'll unleash your fury just like Sirius did. Only, I've told them it'll be worse than when he did… You're much sneakier and more cunning than he ever was; mostly that was his Gryffindor nature at work. Still you've both got that wit and sharp tongue."

Giving a flirtatious wink, he smirked. "Little love, how you flatter me," he teased, but then became serious. "For you, I try to keep myself from saying something rude to the old bint. This Christmas, it stops. If she says one word against us, I'm going to say something."

"That's fine with me," claimed Harry before he wrapped his arms around Draco's neck tightly, and buried his head in the blonds' shoulder, inhaling his soothing scent. "I thank you for trying so hard…but nobody can expect anyone to shoulder that much…_hate_ without snapping sometime. What kind of husband would I be if I never allowed you to stand up for yourself?"

Kissing the top of his raven haired head, he smiled wearily. "You'd still be the very best."

Harry gave a hum of agreement, "well if this year goes all to pot, like all the others, it will be our very last celebrating with the Weasleys' at all. Besides, I feel we should spend more time with your mum, such a lovely woman. Mrs. Weasley could never achieve to be that kind of woman."

"Of course, my love," he whispered huskily. "Now if you're finished here in the kitchen, I'd like to get you into the bedroom to show you just how much I love you."

His husband let out a tittering of laughter, a cheeky smile, and a wink, then took off running towards their room.


	7. Undisclosed Desires

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Setting:** Hogwarts, 5th Year

**Pairing:** Harry/Draco

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**Undisclosed Desires**

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_Draco Malfoy_

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Dear Merlin, just being within ten feet of that giant toad, Delores Umbridge, was _too_ close. Draco had to put up with it though, because he joined her little Inquisitorial Squad. Unlike many Slytherins, he had only signed up because it gave him a reason to stalk Potter, his pet Mudblood and, blood-traitor Weasel.

One of the absolute best things about Potter was that Draco didn't have to target him – not like he really _hated him_ or anything – and the other boy would still lose his temper when you harassed his two little sidekicks. Because, yes, Draco Malfoy _did_ hate that know-it-all Mudblood Granger, and the too poor red-headed Weasel. Gods they were always stands just too close to Potter or touching him in some way or another. It was neither fair nor right!

Thus his favorite moments were catching those three and mocking the idiots Potter surrounded himself with—ultimately causing the messy haired boy to come undone before his very eyes. At times it sent chills down Draco's spine to see the fire light up his emerald green eyes; his posture would straightened just a bit more, become so sure of himself; how there was nobody else who mattered in that moment to Harry Potter other than Draco Malfoy. Yes, these few moments, were some of his favorites of the past few years.

And now he may really hate the hag who calls herself Professor Umbridge—speaking with a poisonously sweet voice and hidden claws to match…but…she really had give him the best solution _ever_ as to why he was always around when Potter looked over his shoulder. Then there was the added bonus that while playing as a puppet for this insane woman, Draco would know first when she planned to attack Potter and how badly it would be. Not that he'd ever admit _that_ to anyone. Ever.

Well… Maybe he would tell the truth to Potter. That's if the two of them could be in the same room longer than five minutes without some kind of argument starting. Next beat the main challenge standing in their way—surviving the War or whatever that the Dark Lord was talking about.

So, to be honest, Draco didn't have much hope of that. He'll just live for what he can have right now.


	8. Panic Switch

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Setting:** Hogwarts; 6th Year

**Pairing:** Harry/Draco

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**Panic Switch**

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_Harry Potter_

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Quite often Harry found himself wondering how far he was lost to the inner madness.

And by calling the lunacy he found himself thinking – unconsciously, mind you – was putting the term _'inner madness'_ mildly.

Merlin, he had only started to lurk in the shadows, watching Malfoy, because he _knew_ the boy had a Dark Mark brandished on his left arm. Draco Malfoy had truly followed in his daddy's footsteps, because no matter what his friends thought, the other boy did join the Death Eaters. Harry's goal in dogging his steps was only to discover the devious mission Malfoy was doing in the walls of Hogwarts. Not needing that lunatic, Lord Voldemort, to have another set of eyes on him. Let alone this boy who'd hand him over on a silver platter, just because he hated him so much.

Yet…the more he watched, the more he began to notice. Things like how the sun gleamed over his white-blond hair, or how his ice cold grey eyes would look so nice if Malfoy would only _smile_ or _laugh_ sometime in his life. And, Godric help him, catching himself in time to stop from staring at those perfect lips—almost wishing that he, Harry would be able to trace them with his thumb; only to squash _that_ line of thinking right as his mind drifted to leaning in, about to take that wonderful mouth in a harsh, bruising kiss.

Ugh! It was starting seem an amazement that Harry wasn't living with his face stuck in a permanent flush—from arousal or embarrassment, he did not know. More or less he was proud that these…forbidden thoughts were still hidden from Ron and Hermione. Gods he couldn't even think of enough words to describe the horror them noticing his…_obsession_…with Malfoy.

Being honest, dating Ginny didn't help at all. Sure she was pretty and something he could say he had always wanted, but, she was missing something. Harry hated the guilt that always flooded him when he started wishing her eyes were a bit lighter; wanting her hair to become less red; dreaming of her body to become more masculine and smell more boy-like.

To think about his troubles with this War and dealing with the old Snake Face was really the only way to end his little fantasies. Whenever Harry shifted his focus to the immediate future, that's when he began to feel right-footed once again.

Because, really, at the end of the day daydreaming of Malfoy and his delicious boy smell, and wanting to share languorous kisses with him, was not going to _matter_ years from now; only defeating the Darkest Wizard of his time would. Saving lives and making the Wizarding world needed his attention right this very moment.

It was those thoughts that helped ease the pressure on his chest—help him to breathe once again.


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